Happy Together
by joannacamilley
Summary: You've changed so much since Camp Rock. It's been a few years, and you still haven't changed back. It's clear you don't love me...I may have to do something about that. Dark Smitchie, contains a murder. :\


**Haha, this is what you get when I listen to a happy '60's song with a morbid mind. I mean, I feel like the song could have deeper meaning, the lyrics slightly sarcastic. Oh well, I just sound crazy now. I actually wrote this like 3 months ago, but I was too busy with my other stories to type it. I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Camp Rock, but I could one day. Meaning, I could open a camp called Camp Rock, lol.**

**Warning: This story contains a murder. I'm not sure if I'm good at describing it (since I've never murdered anyone, lol) so it may or may not disturb you.**

* * *

We're happy together…right?

We go to dinner, laugh with our friends. I gossip with Caitlyn while you talk sports with Nate. We smile and hug them goodbye, holding hands as we walk down the driveway.

That's happy by all definition.

Once we get home, though, that's a different story.

Your face is still housing that _smile _when we reach the door. It goes unnoticed to others, but I know better. I see how unnatural it is for your lips to twist in that direction. The only other time it does that is the occasional evil smirk at me. You jiggle in your pockets for your keys, your face slowly easing back to its usual expression. Scowling mouth, hard eyes, anger all around.

And I don't even know why.

I do everything for you. I cook, I clean, I take care of the bills but it's never enough. I quit my singing career before it had even started because you didn't want the spotlight off of you and your little band. My efforts to please you were all in vain when Connect Three broke up just six months later due to your selfishness. Now, all you do is lie around all day while I run about, trying to get everything done.

I thought you loved me. You might have, long ago, but I'm sure as hell you don't love me now. If you loved me, you wouldn't have forced me to abort our child because you 'didn't want any whiny brats running around'. Do you know how much that tore me apart? You know my values, an unborn baby is still human. Every life is precious and it's not up to us to decide whether they live or not. I felt like a murderer just because you didn't want kids. That's extremely selfish, killing someone just because you don't want them. I was depressed for months, and do you know what you had to say to me?

"Get over it, you should be happy that little bastard is gone."

I can't believe I accepted your proposal to get married. Maybe I thought you'd change once you realized you were about to get married and you had to grow up. But honestly, I knew in the back of my mind you would never change. Old dogs can't learn new tricks.

That's why it ends tonight.

* * *

You finally open the door and you step inside, not waiting for me. I walk in and slowly close the door behind me. I let out the breath I was holding in when I hear the latch click, signaling that the door was securely closed.

I wish I was secure, or even felt like it.

You shrug off your coat, throwing it on the ground. You assume I'm going to clean it up along with the rest of the crap you leave lying on the ground.

But not this time.

I quietly walk into the kitchen, stepping over your coat. I stand at the counter, facing away from you. Though I can't see it, I bet you're lounging on the couch.

Lazy ass.

"So, honey," I say with false cheer. "What would you like for dinner?"

You grunt something I can't understand.

"Chicken it is, then," I mutter, moving around the kitchen to get all the ingredients. I start by baking a pumpkin pie, you always liked your sweets first. I have premade crust and pumpkin…mush. I'm not really sure what it's called, but it doesn't matter anyways.

I place the pie in the oven then go over to the counter, where the chicken is defrosting. I pull out the large butcher's knife and slowly place it next to the chicken on the cutting board, ready to dice the poultry.

But that's not the only thing it's going to be cutting.

* * *

"Mmm," you whisper in my ear as you wrap your arms around me from behind. I slightly cringe at your bad breath, that's what smoking will do to you.

"Shane…" I mumble, warning in my voice. You ignore it and start kissing my neck. I almost feel butterflies in my stomach, the remnants of love.

Almost.

"Smells delicious, just like you," you blow into my ear, lightly nipping it. I slowly extend my hand forward, onto the cutting board. You're too occupied moving back down to my neck, this time sucking. I slowly close my hand around the knife, getting a good grip on it. I gasp and clench my hand around it when you bite down, not hard enough to draw blood, but it still hurts.

Trust me, I'm gonna get you back.

"Shane," I murmur almost silently. You disconnect your lips from my neck to show you're listening, your grip tightening on my hips. I'll probably have bruises by tomorrow, assuming I don't fail at my task, that is.

"Can you go check on the pie? You know I always underestimate how well done it is," I remind you, turning my head towards your face. You narrow your eyes at me for a moment, searching my face for any sign that I'm deceiving you. I smile and lean forward, lightly kissing you on your lips. You grunt as you push my lips back to yours, trying to deepen the kiss. I comply for a few seconds, but only to please you for (hopefully) the last time.

It won't be much longer now.

* * *

After what seems like an eternity, you finally let go of me and head to the oven. I tightly hold the knife again as you lean down to check on the pie. I only have a small window of opportunity to do this.

And I'm taking it.

I hear you moan as the smell wafts up to your nose. I'm right behind you as you lick your lips, your stomach growling for the pie.

Shakily, I raise the knife above my head, focusing on the left of your back.

That's where your heart is. I'm going to pierce it just like you pierced mine.

"Babe," you say. I close my eyes…and bring my arm down on your back as forcefully as I can.

"The pi-" you suddenly stop as the knife cuts right through your shirt and skin, sliding between your ribs.

You stutter as deep red stains your pale blue shirt. The knife is firmly in you, but I yank it out of your back. It makes a sloshing and sucking noise as more blood quickly flows out of the wound. It comes out so quickly, I had to have cut into your heart.

Success.

You turn around, shaking like crazy. You look me in the eye with a pained expression, but I know it's not from physical pain. Your breathing is erratic, and blood starts trickling out of your mouth. Maybe I got a lung too.

"Mi-Mitch," you sputter, spitting some blood out also. "I'm so-orry for hu-urting you."

You fall forward and I can hear the rattling of fluids in your lungs. You grab onto my forearms, holding on for dear life. No pun intended.

Disgusted, I wrench your hands off of me, making you pathetically fall to the ground. I feel a little guilty. I may want you dead, but that doesn't mean I want to degrade you on the way. I still lov- never mind. I'm not going to finish that thought.

You look up at me with watery (but dulling) eyes. You're paling so quickly, all the blood leaving your face and exiting onto your shirt (and the floor by now.)

You open your mouth a few times before the words actually leave your lips.

"I love you."

I scrunch my eyebrows together as you gasp for breath. Love? Do you even know what that is anymore? I stare deeply into your eyes and gasp. The way you look at me…as if you love me. How is that possible? After all the horrible things you put me through? If you do love me, you should have expressed it before. Then again, I bet you never thought I'd actually try to kill you.

I get down on my knees and hold onto your hands. Your shaking slows, but I don't think that's a good thing. You weakly cough up some blood, and that does it.

I start crying.

"I'm sorry, but I had to," I whisper to you. Your eyes become unfocused and you slump against the wall. That'll leave bloodstains for sure.

I've got to learn to become more sensitive.

Your breathing slows until it eventually comes to a stop. Your eyes are left slightly open, a glazed over look on them. Your hands go limp, but I hold on tighter.

"I love you, too. Always had, always will," I murmur to your body. Maybe, just maybe, you heard that, from where ever you are now.

We may not have been happy together, but we were _happy together_.

* * *

**So, I leave it open to your interpretation. Do you think Shane really loved her? Or was the ending just an act? Does Mitchie really love Shane if she'd kill him? Why did Shane treat her so bad if he 'loves her'? You can give me a review, telling what you think the answers are. Reviews are always appreciated. :D And I can reply telling you what I was thinking.**


End file.
